Spring 2013

It took Blaine Anderson exactly 2.3 seconds to make the biggest decision of his young life. 

Acceptance letter in hand, he was headed to Juilliard's School of Music, no ifs, ands or OSUs.

There were plenty of schools across the country that would meet his academic needs. But none was closer to his heart than Juilliard. Because for the past 10 months, his  heart resided in a tiny, borrowed Upper West Side apartment in New York City.

His first move was to his phone, where he snapped a picture of the admissions packet. It was promptly texted to one Kurt Hummel.

The response was immediate:

What do we have here?

Hello New York!

Hello, love, Kurt wrote back.

So Blaine politely declined Oberlin. And Berklee. And Northwestern. And USC. He had passed over NYU's Tisch School because at this stage of his life, he wanted to focus on the music, not the business of music. 

And he had refused to apply to NYADA, despite Kurt's gentle encouragement. "It's not what I want, Kurt," Blaine explained, though Kurt knew better, and loved him all the more for it. He understood Blaine's nature: He was fiercely loyal, and could hold a grudge -- be it against bullies or academic institutions. He planned to study in New York, yes, but not at the school that nearly crushed the boy who owned his heart.

When all was said and done, with mortarboards tossed and goodbyes said, Blaine packed his belongings in record time 

True to his vow, he moved to New York shortly after his high school graduation, considering his departure the best possible graduation gift.

****

They made it work.

Despite complications, such as the unexpected news that Blaine must live on campus his freshman year at Juilliard. They had already established a home blocks from campus in the borrowed studio apartment of Cooper Anderson, who had a longterm commitment in Los Angeles and refused to accept rent, asking only that the apartment be kept "clean and fabulous."

Despite the roommate, who thankfully found a girlfriend about a week into the school year.

Despite the competing school and work schedules which left them with few weekday hours together.

Despite their equally guarded, private reservations that somehow this couldn't be so easy 

They made it work, largely by sticking to their plan.

On weekdays, Blaine stayed close to campus. He often either had to perform in or attend evening concerts, and the fact that the dormitories had well-appointed practice rooms was a bonus. On those nights when Blaine awoke with a start around 3 am, he'd wander down the hall in sweats and scruff, seal himself off in a practice room and pour his excess energy into the piano. 

Kurt's weekdays weren't much better. Enrolled at Parsons New School of Design nearly a year after his high school graduation, his schedule was awash with design labs, workshops and portfolio reviews, plus seminars designed to integrate new students into New York arts and culture. He spent five days a week in studio classes, and sat in on career panels and guest lectures to absorb as much of the academic environment as possible. His available time was spider web thin, and rarely synced cleanly with Blaine's equally-limited moments of freedom.

But on the weekends, they devoted themselves to each other.

Saturdays were abuzz with activity: Museums, window shopping, sharing a little picnic in lottery ticket lines for Broadway shows, then enjoying a dessert and coffee in a Hell's Kitchen restaurant after the show.

Sundays were for lingering.

They loitered in bed, touching, tasting, hovering on the precipice of sleep, only to be drawn into delirium with the wisp of a fingertip and the brush of a tongue.

Blaine, generally unwilling to unravel himself from Kurt's arms, would rise slowly and dress with little thought in a t-shirt and jeans to fetch a Sunday Times ("Sunday is the day you read a real paper, not a laptop, Kurt.") while Kurt toiled on his pre-planned Sunday brunch menu. Today, lemon ricotta pancakes, next week, spinach-feta omelets.

Somehow, by the time Blaine returned with the paper, Kurt had perfected his gravity-defying hair. Blaine had no idea how he did it, but his internal voice whispered a little 'thank you' every time it happened. Blaine would pause, and stare. Because Kurt Hummel, perfected, never failed to take his breath away.

They would eat side-by-side, or sometimes return to bed, sharing a meal and exchanging sections of the paper. Blaine would start with world news, or the sports section. Kurt had long ago called first dibs on arts and entertainment.

If they were accused of being an old married couple in high school, their friends should see them now.

On sunny Sunday afternoons, they would stroll hand-in-hand through Central Park, watching the frisbee dogs, the Tai Chi classes, the parents pushing strollers and the elderly couples lovingly sharing a park bench. To the latter, they would stop, smile, then share a knowing look.

Marriage was an inevitability, they knew, but as anxious as they were to be together, neither felt compelled to rush into an exchange of wedding vows. There was time for that. After college.

After career plans had been charted and launched.